Ashes, Ashes
by DevDev
Summary: Is this a dream? She can't tell and it just feels too good to question. Claire/Desmond


.

The flowers are high here.

Like a ghost, the blonde is dressed in white. Her hair swings free as she twirls round and round, arms outstretched. Dancing for no one. She flounces down into the soft, tall grass, purple flowers higher and higher. They engulf her like flames.

Focusing on the rise and fall of her own chest she realizes that yes, she could die happy here.

.

There are days, she thinks. They pass by, folding into the other seamlessly. It might even be weeks, months, years. She doesn't know.

Giggles. And flowers. Bright, even at night. The stars are always shining here.

.

_Ring around the rosie_

_A pocket full of posies_

Mmm. Lullabies. Dad used to sing a different one, but he sings this one now.

It reminds her of a little boy. Her little boy? Blonde and blue and beautiful. She doesn't remember where he went. But he was going. He had gone from her and here. Just like his father. He had left too. And had there been someone else? If she concentrates really hard, she can smell peanut butter and feel the salt of the ocean linger on her lips.

She knows he had gone too. Everyone did, after all. If not today, then tomorrow. Everyone is always leaving.

Her cheeks are wet somehow. She can't remember how. She can't remember why.

She can't remember anything at all here.

.

One day is different. Someone else is there now.

He lays next to her, his brown hair and brown eyes a startling difference between her fair complexion. She doesn't know him. He doesn't know her.

But there is something about this stranger that makes her think he isn't a stranger after all. She tries to tell him this, but her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth and she can't breathe. His concerned touch on her wrist feels as soft as silk. He asks if she is okay.

She isn't so sure but whispers a yes anyway.

.

The brown haired stranger takes a thorn and traces the white skin of her arms and thighs. She bleeds.

But her blood isn't red.

He kisses these wounds and they heal. He kisses her lips and she breathes.

There is salt on his lips too.

.

Almost. Almost. But. Not quite there. Like the first time she smoked an entire bowl all by herself. The weightless, unaware feeling. Nothing mattered. Everything just felt good.

Everything feels good now.

Slowly now. Slow down, stranger.

.

Her breath is coming in waves when he kisses her neck. They are naked in the grass; both with eyes that are half lidded, mouths open wide.

She gasps when he touches her breast. Runs her fingers through his soft brown locks and holds on as he moves lower, his breath freezing against her stomach, thighs.

Oh. Her eyes pop as her hips thrust once, hard against his chin. She is in the sky, she is on the grass, and she is everywhere. Good. It feels so good.

He stiffens against her and she feels it. She guides him for a moment before lying back in the grass and gripping a purple flower in her hand. Her breath comes faster, he's whispering in her ear, lips circling, tasting, touching, being. They thrust together once more and the stem of the purple flower snaps.

But it is okay. They are the sky, they are on the grass, and they are everywhere.

.

The sky is darkening. The stars are disappearing now.

_I don't even know your name._ She says this after while curled in his arms tucked beneath his chin.

His arms make her feel safe. She's never felt safe in this place.

_Desmond. And what about you, love? What's your name?_

She wrinkles her nose and something is tugging awfully hard at her brain. She shakes her hair and then. Then. Then she knows. She remembers.

_Oh God._ Someone cracks their palm against her cheek and the whole world goes dark. She's blind and she can't see and she scrambles backward until her spine hits panels of old wood.

_It's Claire. I'm Claire._

Someone is swaying in an old rocking chair; his face is twisted and angry. It's all she can see and she is frightened. _Yes. Yes it is._

_._

_How could you let this happen?_

_Blame your slut of a daughter, Christian. You should have never brought her here in the first place. _

_Don't you call her that! I was trying to protect her –!_

_Well. We can't save him now, can we? We can't save him!_

Claire starts crying, but the tears are burning her skin. They burn and she can't stop them from doing so. She stops abruptly, leaving her lower lip quivering instead.

She can't see but she can hear. She can't move but she can feel. It is so dark.

What has she done?

_Ashes ashes, Claire._

_._

When her eyes flutter open next, she is not blinded. The grass is gone however, and she is lying in a patch of dirt outside an old log cabin. There is a circle of ash around her, she realizes but doesn't know.

Desmond is here. He is lying in the patch of dirt too, but a circle of blood surrounds him. She thinks he might be dead. Inching closer into the pool of blood, she takes his hand and brings it to her lips. Despite the bitterness of blood, he still tastes like salt.

A splatter of blood marks her cheeks as he coughs and she drops his hand in a swift motion. She is scared.

_I know you_. He whispers, blood rising in his throat. She dips her head to his neck, listening for the weak, jagged pulse. He is dying. He is dying and it is her fault.

_I'm sorry. I am so sorry. You saved me and I killed you._

He motions her closer and she crawls into his arms, ignoring the blood that seems to cover her white skin like a blanket. He strokes her hair and holds her close, as if she is the one with the bullet hole in her side, as if she is the one dying. She is shaking and he rocks her as much as he can, lightly whispering that it'll all be okay. He calls her Claire. He knows what they have done.

And then his eyes are closing and she is the one who is rocking his body back and forth, the pool of blood slopping around like a puddle of water. Her skin is red now, her hair streaked with orange. Claire clutches Desmond with wide blue eyes, and rocks back and forth in that circle of ash.

Drowning in their mistake.

.

Christian is the one who peels Claire away from Desmond's body. He says he needs it.

She doesn't believe him.

Jacob is there too, the coward, and she yells at the both of them.

He's dead. And she didn't know. How could she know? She pleads with them and tells them that she didn't know, that they both didn't know! She screams, hysterical now, still rocking with Desmond's dead body. She lets her burning tears mark their way down her face no matter how much it hurts.

She didn't know.

And then there's Desmond's voice in her ears, circling round her neck, across her collarbone, and through her lips. _Run_. She backs away from the blood and lets Christian take the body. _Run_. Jacob is approaching her and her legs are still, her eyes glassy. _Run_.

And so she does. Through the arms of Jacob and Christian, through the blood, through the circle of ash, through the trees, through the puddles and mud, through to the beach. She collapses there and whispers a thank you to Desmond.

He's saved her twice now.

.

Sawyer sees her first. He lost her and he finds her first and maybe that seems right.

Her skin is caked with Desmond's blood now. On her hands and knees and arms and face. Her hair is still streaked with it.

_Claire?_

She nods and launches into his arms, all legs and long hair.

When she cries this time, her tears don't burn.

.

When Lucy is born nine months later, they can't find any pink blankets. She's wrapped in Aaron's old blue one instead. Claire smiles, her tears finally stop, and she holds their daughter.

.

Two years pass before Claire boards a helicopter piloted by Frank. Lucy is in her arms, wrapped in the blue blanket.

This is Desmond's vision. He wasn't a liar.

As the blades of the copter chop into the air, Claire's eyes go glassy as she remembers for a moment. The purple flowers, the lullaby, the sky, the grass and the man who saved her. Lucy breaks this reverie with a babble of 'Mum'. And when Sawyer offers her his hand she takes it, gingerly stepping on board next to him.

As they rise up into the air, the island slowly fading from their view, Lucy sings.

_We all fall down._

Sawyer takes the toddler from Claire and asks Luce where she learned that line. While she points to the island, Lucy says _Grand-Pop, Grand-Pop, Grand-Pop!_ and excitedly claps her hands.

.

Lucy is four when Desmond flashes to her for the first time. He is no stranger.

He lets her teach him how to play Ring Around the Rosie. They fall down after the last line in a bank of tall grass and high flowers. He strokes her blonde hair and she giggles.

Desmond watches her small chest rise and fall steadily with breath; promises he'll be visit again soon, and disappears.

The next time he visits he will bring purple flowers for Lucy and Claire. And Christian might let him stay.

.

End.


End file.
